Flips the lighter open, and ignites a single flame. His palm covers the cigarette in his well masterpiece of inked hand. He looks down towards the flame it always told stories maybe not maybe he just saw burn victims and death. Whatever he saw it amazed him took him for a ride like a evening high.
The man was content, the evening had done him well. Night was peering in little light passed the streets this time. Shops would soon close and with it the nightlife would surround the calling city. Like mice in an empty abandoned home. Scurry quick little mice, the cat longing to play.
The f*cks up buttercup.
A voice is heard from around the corner in a dimmed lighted view of an alleyway. Daylight may have been breaking but even a blind one could see the man if he really peered into the darkness well enough.

Victor hadn’t fed properly since the serial killings that had taken place uncomfortably close to his home, and now that they had effectively been stopped, he was throwing himself a little bit of a party. Party meaning he and Mackenzie had rented a suite under pseudonyms and ordered some ‘room service’.

When Mackenzie finally did find him in the master bathroom, he presented quite a scene. The Brit was occupying the large jacuzzi tub with three women (two of whom were freshly deceased) all as nude as the day they were born. The water had become entirely red with his violent ministrations, and he only tore himself away from the throat of the blonde who currently had his attention when he finally noticed Mackenzie had been calling him.

Blood sliding down his chin, he offered a macabre smirk. “There you are. Care to join me?”

-seems unamused--mulls it over a moment-"I suppose that will suffice."-a business card appears in hand out of seemingly nowhere-"Call, email, either works. I require details as to when, where and how I am to perform. Details, kinks, etcetera etcetera. The fireman tends to slay. As for payment, half before and, if you are satisfied, half after."

Do you actually want to be? If I recall correctly, the first time I brought it up you were saying no practically before I could finish my thought.
Or are you still playing games with me?
You know I don't like to lose, right?

“Do you… do you smell that? Smells like bullsh-t. Am I right?” He wafted the “scent” toward himself theatrically. “I think I’m right.”

Smirking breezily as he dropped the act, he stepped toward her and ducked, catching her lips with his in a brief kiss. “If you’re not ready to be married, that’s fine. I’m not going anywhere. When you are, I think we should honeymoon in Norway. I have reasons.”

Mackenzie stepped away from him, and his arms lifted to cross over his chest. He watched her, a single skeptical brow raising as she fussed with her phone for a moment. As soon as she turned, he felt his own cellular vibrate in his pocket, and he narrowed his eyes at her before retrieving it.

Dark eyes moved swiftly over the “group” text before lifting to examine her expression. A slow smile overtook Victor’s face only a moment before a quick bout of full blown laughter filled the room. “You’re so full of sh-t. Even the thought of me going down on a knee almost sent you into hysterics, and you think I’m gonna believe a change of heart this quickly?”

No way. She was angling for something else, he was sure of it. He eyed her up with a shrewd gaze. “I think you don’t believe I really meant it when I asked you. You’re thinking I only asked as a bluff to satisfy you.” He chuckled darkly. “Denial is fine, but I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it. You can’t scare me off.”

The petite powerhouse melted into his touch, and it brought a satisfied tilt to his lips. It was intensely exciting to him that something could be so tiny and so dangerous. The woman could easily rip his head off without breaking a sweat. Maybe that’s why he enjoyed pressing her buttons so much. He just enjoyed courting death.

Likewise, she knew how to press his buttons, and she’d spent plenty of time figuring out just where they were. “Catholic? Sure. I might burst into flames when I set foot inside the church, but I think I can take the heat.”

He was almost certain that she was simply taking the piss, but he would have his fun regardless. Tilting his head, he brought his lips closer to her ear. “Mackenzie Lockheed. It has a little something to it, wouldn’t you say?”

Victor relinquished the zippo without a fight, nor did he protest when she lifted one of his cigarettes. They already operated on a ‘what’s mine is yours’ policy, for f-ck’s sake. Not to mention they argued like they’d been married for a few decades already.

“Have you seen how much I drink? I’m essentially a high functioning alcoholic.” She was playing coy just to tease him. He liked it. Moving in behind her smaller form, he drew her in against him with his hands upon her waist. Laying a precisely placed bite upon her neck – enough to leave a tiny mark – he murmured enticingly, “Think about it. I could be your emergency contact.”

“Well,” He began, twirling his zippo around between his fingers, “For one, you get half of my emotional baggage. For keeps.” He smirked at her, white smile stark against his olive skin. “I think there’s also something about legal and monetary ramifications if this Lockheed isn’t behaving himself, which some might find interesting.”

He didn’t really think she was considering it, but he was pretty sure the idea was titillating to her in some way. “Who is this friend we’re talking about? If it’s Spring, I need to be a little more drunk.”

Wee IrishWhy do you do this to me?The one from the Den that I was talking to.He is magnificent, beautiful, stamina for days, a God. Truly.Pervert.You do not see me asking aboout your sex life.Right now anyway.SEE! These are the important questions.Everything else is wild.Hamsters officially scare me.

Wee IrishYes, I made a friend. He is pretty.We need a bar shutdown to catch up.Soon.Tiber is... yes, scruffy is the word.At least for now.Question?OH!Where do the wild hamsters live? The ones not in stores.

Maccabee
I care very little for Redcoats, so whether yours appreciates my intentions or not is of little concern to me. I'm currently staying in the Upper East Side for my sins. Meet me at 10pm in Central Park and I promise you you'll have a night far more to your liking than anything your Redcoat can offer.

Mackenzie
So what, you just f*ck off back to the shadows? Just CC me into a f*cking email, send me some money and go? Wow. F*ck you too, Mackenzie. F*ck you. You're a f*cking joke, Mackenzie. You realise this, yes? A f*cking mess. "Everyone leaves me", well look who's done the same. Congratulations. Do you understand how f*cking hard it was to actually talk to you after everything? To get the f*cking nerve? I don't know why I f*cking bothered. You have people who f*cking stick by you and care about you to the bitter end, but it's obvious where your priorities lie. Where they always lie. It's you first and f*ck the rest of us. We're here when you need us and just as ****ing disposable when you don't. You didn't even ask, Mackenzie. You haven't even asked me one single f*cking question about how I am, yet you know. You f*cking know that...no. F*ck you. F*CK YOU.

Katherine had waited days; truthfully, she didn't really know how to give comfort in any kind of way other than offering an ear had Mackenzie needed it. The only thing she could think of doing is quite out of the ordinary for her; she absconded with every libation provided by the Irish. Bless her poor Scottish soul.

Kat would also wait until all was quiet around Sonder to even stack the bottles in front of Kenzie's door, she would not be caught like this. But, she also knew it might be needed and the note she left would offer the ear.

My b-tch
OI. Ye skivvy slores where be me green ale and coins?! Victor! Manslave take off ye fcking bloomers and get ye sizzling @rse over here. Hear ye, hear ye.Hide ye sistahs and their hoesbands if I see one I’m going to fcking kill them.

Walking a different plane than most of the living afforded one with the ability to see life essences. As the foot of this stranger came down on Gyldi’s tail and effectively through it, she wondered at her lack of aura entirely. Curiouser still was the fact that the “contact” - for lack of a better term - didn’t bring the usual warmth that came with passing through the living. Instead, it was icy, like the feeling she usually exchanged for their warmth.

As she would turn to go, the beasty would bound after, catching up until she cast her body through Mackenzie entirely. Just as expected, she was met with that curious ice, and she wondered if the woman felt the same. Turning her head until she looked over her shoulder, she cast Eiji a questioning look, hoping it would explain.

I'm happy to send you some information about our Dead Stay Dead packages. They range from minimal to full formal, and all of them involve a finality guarantee. I've attached my contact information along with the informational pamphlets. I would be glad to answer any questions you might have.

Someone was looking for you.
Red hair.
Thigh tattoo.
I don’t like her.
She touched me.
I don’t like being touched.
I suggest we dispose of her. Dempsey

Dempsey’s finger hovered over the send button for a moment as she recalled her meeting with the red headed woman looking for Mackenzie. She had demanded information on the woman and called herself a friend. Dempsey wasn’t aware of Tanvir’s affiliation but Dempsey hadn’t trusted herself to give information away about her leader. The curly haired woman refused to be the middle man, if Tanvir was a friend of Mackenzies and had business with her then so be it, she wasn’t going to be someone’s pawn. Dempsey read over the message for the fifth time before hitting send. She needed another shower to wash away the memories of Red’s hand on her arm.

sʞooɹq ǝızuǝʞɔɐW
Do you know none of them at all? Why the hell are you here anyway?

sʞooɹq ǝızuǝʞɔɐW
Wait, no, that can wait.

sʞooɹq ǝızuǝʞɔɐW
The blonde is driving me fcking insane just by looks alone. What is she? A cheerleader? Seriously, I think that face would look a lot better with a broken nose, preferably via contact with the bar. But there's definitely something going on between her and...don't you think that guy looks like the guy out of Star Wars? I've literally only seen one movie in the last god-only-knows how many years and he looks like the guy out of it. What's his name? The one with the attitude and the beeping ball? But anyway. Any of them. Actually any of them. Because obviously the lay low, start again refresh of Tanvir Buckley I was planning on is not going to happen now you're here IN A WEREWOLF BAR WTAF?!

Mortals can melt into the crowd, lose themselves, keep their distance. But for the likes of him, of them, well, could they ever be that lucky? For how long can you hide with an eternity ahead of you? When you’ve used up every dark corner and have nowhere else to go?

When Jack had left, when he’d finally gone and closed the door of the cabin behind him, he knew her goodbye would be the last. Too many broken moments. Too much pain. Whatever state she was now in, all this time later, he had every faith that the emotional scars still lingered from all he’d put her through. But did that mean she didn’t still care? As he’d sat there every night, thinking of her. As he’d time and time again been told to ’give it a fcking rest already!’ by Tanvir as he’d once again found means to bring Mackenzie Brooks into conversation. They’d been something else, he’d tell her. Nothing quite like them had ever existed, and it never would again.

But now his journey was over, his fight for a freedom from the very thing that had clouded their relationship. Was he ‘fixed’? No. But he was in control. That wickedness, the evil that lived within him, he’d found the balance. He was Jack Horton and the monster, perfectly knotted together.

But it was too late now. He knew better. And as he sat at the desk in the suite of The London, NYC, hunched over the same damn piece of paper for hour six or seven, he couldn’t find a single word to write. He’d had such wonderful intentions. A ‘be safe’ here. An ‘it’s all over’ there. A note to let her know that what had taken him away, what had haunted them for years, was finally through. And a wish that she find happiness from whatever wreckage he’d left her in. Yes nothing flowed from the branded pen in his hand. Nothing but her name, Mackenzie, in his cursive script.

Finally, some hours later as the sun rose, spreading its light across him through the wide wall of windows, he sealed the envelope and pulled on his shoes to find the nearest post box.

"Ah.. there is no need to 'try harder'." It is nonchalant, there is no pressure to say his name correctly. He does not expect someone to speak a language they do not know. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Mackenzie. I should probably take my leave and let you return to your business. Thank you for your time, for entertaining my strange sense of humour."

Not me help you, you help me.Wait.I like tutus. I love the ballet.Are you at the ballet?Do our woods have ballet?Wait. I NEED YOUR HELP!I may or may not have agreed to something.Marriage.Quinn.Sol.UH. Why do you have tutus>

Jay stares at the woman he doesn't know spouting profanities at him. It all seems rather rude. ****ing a citrine half smile, he reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieving a frayed handkerchief and dabbing at an invisible spot at the corner of his lips.

Staring at her some more, just enough to be uncomfortable, he then replies with a single, accented word.

Turquoise irides dance upon the 'young' woman's face as she rants. She appears a bit put off and so he offers another suggestion. "It means 'Butcher', though, I am not sure you'd like to refer to me as that." Still, he isn't willing to give up his real name to a relative stranger. "Would V be easier, Mack?" His nose wrinkles. He prefers to use given names for women. It just seems more.. proper. Call him old fashioned.

She amuses him. In a positive way, of course. "It is a pleasure, Mackenzie." A firm shake; she's strong for someone so petite and truth be told, he is shocked. He again gives his name, this time slowly. Russian is difficult. "Mees-neek."

Elis took the time to visit Scotland, to hunt down one of the multiple lockups that housed his belongings for years gone by. Trinkets, investments and the occasional keepsake from the many lives he'd led. Dundee - cold, wet and nasty. Yet he persisted, slipping down a narrow alley way between houses that dare to defy gravity, until he found the particular dwelling he required.

A few days more, and back in the slightly better climate of London, he packaged the bottle he'd plucked from a dusty collection, an sent it by courier to Mackenzie.

Upon the surface of the bottle, handwritten, noted: 1506 - the Guild of Barber Surgeons - James IV of Scotland.

The giant turns slowly, quite aware of the woman's presence. Who couldn't see that lovely gold lame [read la-mey] suit she was wearing, reminiscent of Elvis. A thick brow thrust upwards at her question. "Nein, Fraulein, I've never had the pleasure." Extending a large hand, he introduces himself. Sort of. "I'm known as Myasnik, very nice to make your acquaintance."

Camille startles at the angry snip, turning fast on her heel with fists up defensively to face a similarly tiny terror. Such accusations. So angry. So testy. "Yeah?! So?? You can wax right the f-ck off, McDuck." Her fists go down and she tousles her hair with raking fingers. "He's pretty, isn't he? Now I understand the whole Indiana Jones thing!"

She could play hard to get all she wanted. Mackenzie was actively torturing Jameson f*cking Orlav, and he knew the reason. It was for him. Mackenzie couldn't deny that. It put her and her Sanctuary at risk, just like she had proclaimed she would never do. Her actions told a story as plain as day.

Feeling suddenly quite charitable, he obliged Mackenzie's request. Switching his phone to camera mode, he bent down next to his doomed, sobbing companion.

"Give me a scream, pretty girl."

Mick
Tell me where you are.
[IMG Rec'd]

The image was a closeup of an attractive young woman with rivers of mascara running down her pink, sobbing face, Victor's fingers clearly snatching her head back by her hair.

Lucius has a hard time getting up but not to rub and flex his jaw. F@ck that hurt!
"Not in the face...." He groan then felt a kiss on his cheek. That was strange but okay.. I'll take it. Checks to make sure all teeth are still there. Yes! Nothing broken then.
"Next time include dinner!" He said as an after thought.

Oi. Go be chill and set his f-cking loft on fire. That usually f-cking gets their attention. Or kick down his door. Basic f-ckig sh-t like that always works. For real. Why the hell would you get married?